by DiAnn Mills
“Good move.” Kempler turned to Jon. “I’m also requesting protection for my family.”
56
LEAH DETESTED the endless slow drip of time—in her veins and in the hospital. Once Ross Kempler left, she considered ordering Jon out of the room so she could dress and go home. Closing her eyes, she replayed the moment she lifted the lid on the flower box and was bitten. Raising the knife and lowering it over the snake, severing its head and hacking away like a madwoman until it lay in pieces . . . cleaning her wound and contacting 911.
Her reaction to the rattler and victory over her fear filled her with relief. No more ophidiophobia. No more nightmarish jeers from her demons to echo in her mind.
You’re a sniper for the FBI?
You’re one of the top three marksmen in the US?
And you’re afraid of snakes?
Leah had killed it. Literally. In a few hours she’d step inside her apartment and see the remains of what had stalked her for years. She could handle it. She basked in the satisfaction of being an overcomer. This victory also felt like a win on the case battlefront, and if those responsible for the Galveston murders had lost one fight, they’d lose another and another.
When she opened her eyes, Jon was examining her face as though it were beneath a microscope.
“Are you okay?” she said.
“Aren’t I supposed to be asking you that?”
“I’m great. The nausea is wearing off.”
“I’m sleeping on your couch tonight.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Everything I’ve read says you shouldn’t be left alone. If you’re refusing my company, then who?”
She thought of Terri, but she didn’t want to bother her. “I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re worried about propriety—”
“Jon, it’s not that. I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not. I need my partner.”
She moaned. “Tell you what. I’ll set my phone to go off every two hours and give you the times. When I’m alerted, I’ll text you.”
He frowned. “Forget to text me, and I’ll be at your front door.”
“I have no doubt. Would you hand me my phone? I want to check with the agents at the Mendez home.”
He picked up her phone from the hospital stand and gave it to her. “They’re in place. You had dozed off when I received a text. One of the agents reported Rachel Mendez has a bucket of questions. She wants to talk to you. The hour doesn’t matter.”
She pressed in Rachel Mendez’s number. “It’s probably a woman thing. I’ll let you listen in.”
Rachel picked up on the first ring.
“This is Agent Riesel. I understand you wanted me to call you.”
“At whose request were the police officers replaced by FBI agents? I’m not upset, just concerned for my children and mother.”
“We initiated the replacement after a new development.”
“Has there been another murder?” Rachel’s voice rose.
“No. We’ve been told your husband documented evidence identifying the likely perpetrators. We felt precaution made sense.”
“If my husband had evidence like that, I’d have known about it. Nicolás and I employed an open relationship.”
But she’d kept Dylan’s connection to her from him for years. “What if he kept the evidence secret to protect you?”
Silence lingered on the other end of the phone. Finally, “He loved me very much, and his children were his treasure. Please accept my apologies. I want the killers found and prosecuted.”
“I understand. But if you’re holding back additional information, now is the time to tell me.”
Rachel sighed. “The idea of Dylan being a part of these horrible crimes makes me physically ill. Nothing in my limited conversations with him indicated any criminal intent. Silvia Ortega raised my son with good values. Find him and help prove his innocence.”
How much of what Rachel said was truth?
57
MONDAY MORNING, Silvia and Warren entered the building housing Galveston County Jail. Warren held her hand, giving her the strength she needed to endure what lay ahead.
“I’m going to wait out here,” Warren said. “There are things you may need to say without my presence.”
Silvia had counted on having Warren beside her during the ordeal. He had insight and wisdom, but she wouldn’t protest. They had a bit of a wait anyway, since Agents Riesel and Colbert hadn’t arrived yet.
Guilt threatened her resolve. Was she betraying her precious boy? Did he understand he’d been born of her heart if not of her womb? Fear for his safety mounted. A gang member or law enforcement officer could kill him.
Silvia thought about Rachel, the young woman who’d given her baby boy up for adoption to focus on a career. The conversations were etched in Silvia’s heart, beginning at the dental office when she’d cleaned Rachel’s teeth over twenty-one years ago.
“No X-rays,” Rachel had whispered. “I’m pregnant.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “I should abort, but I don’t want to kill my baby. Neither can I keep it when I have two more years of law school.”
Silvia leaned into her. “Your words tell me your baby is dear to you.”
“I don’t know what to do.” She blinked back more tears. “My parents would be so disappointed. Murder is sin, and I’m old-fashioned and believe in the church’s stand on abortion. Father Gabriel would excommunicate me.”
“There is a solution,” Silvia said. “Adoption is a gift to someone who desperately wants a child.”
“I’ve wondered about it, even considered various options.” She peered into Silvia’s face, her huge blue eyes filled with despair.
“Who else knows?”
“Only you.”
“Do you want me to help you find a home for your baby through the church?”
“Yes, I need help. I can hide the pregnancy until mid-May when school is out. Then I can disappear until my due date of September 20.”
Thinking back on how her friendship with Rachel began, Silvia wondered if she’d been naive, the one who’d been used. As their conversations continued, Rachel begged her to take the baby, claimed God had planned it. Father Gabriel assisted with the adoption, arranging for Ross Kempler to complete the legal paperwork. Rachel watched her son grow while Silvia threw her heart and soul into raising the boy.
She didn’t understand then or now why she’d been the one selected to love Rachel’s baby. Every day since then, she’d thanked God for His gift.
God, help me trust You for Dylan’s innocence.
Warren broke the silence between them. “Remember we asked God to bless whatever happens and use it for His good.”
She pushed aside her emotion. No reason to hide the truth any longer. She must tell Warren about the adoption without mentioning Rachel’s name. “Warren, there’s something I need to tell you about Dylan . . .”
When Agent Riesel entered the room, Silvia swallowed a lump in her throat and promised herself she’d not panic. The agent’s left hand and wrist were bandaged. Silvia and Warren rose to greet her. Agent Riesel welcomed Silvia before giving Warren her attention.
“We meet again, Mr. Livingston,” Agent Riesel said.
“You two know each other?” Silvia stared at him.
“I didn’t want to alarm you.” He seemed to sense her concern. “My shop and property were threatened. Chief Everson referred me to these agents.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Oh yes. It may have been a hoax.”
A twist of betrayal rose in Silvia, and she tried to choke it back. But she’d held information from him. “I’m not upset, but I wish you’d have told me.”
“In the future, I won’t keep anything from you. I promise.” Sincerity laced his words.
“Neither will I.” How wonderful of God to put a good man in her life.
“Agent Colbert is waiting for us,” Agent Riesel said. “Are you ready?”
Warren squeezed Silvia’s hand, and she followed the agent. Once inside the locked doors, Silvia pointed to Agent Riesel’s left hand. “Did you have an accident?”
“Not exactly. A delivery boy brought me what I thought were roses. When I lifted the lid, I was bit by a rattler.”
Silvia gasped and covered her mouth. “How dreadful.”
“One more reason why I want these people stopped.”
“Shouldn’t you be home resting?”
Agent Riesel smiled, but Silvia thought it was forced. “I’m okay, and thanks for asking.” She opened the door to a small, windowless room.
Agent Colbert rose and greeted Silvia. He’d always made her suspicious of his motives, as though Dylan were guilty without evidence. “Please, have a seat,” he said. “The man in custody is being escorted to us.”
She sat opposite the agents. Silvia feared she’d be ill. What was worse? Learning Dylan was a Veneno or him finding out she doubted his innocence? Long minutes passed before a brisk knock brought Agent Colbert to his feet and to the door.
The prisoner was brought inside, his hands in cuffs. Silvia’s face grew hot. She peered into dark-brown eyes, studied the long nose and telltale signs of cocaine use on the insides of his arms. He nodded his recognition. This was the man who’d picked up the seven hundred dollars for Dylan.
“Ms. Ortega, do you recognize this man?” Agent Riesel said.
Her stomach whirled. “Yes.”
Was this man receiving protection or getting some sort of deal for cooperating with the authorities? If Dylan were guilty of a crime, would he agree to help the FBI or the police in exchange for a lesser sentence? She desperately needed to talk to her son and drew in a prayer for strength. “I need to know if my son, Dylan Ortega, is a member of the Veneno gang.”
Moments ticked by. Why wasn’t the man—whatever his name was—giving her a simple answer?
“The agents showed me his picture, but he ain’t nobody I’ve seen.”
Relief rushed through her, mingled with confusion. “Then why did you come to where I work? I thought you were helping him, you might be his friend.” Silvia regretted revealing her role in aiding Dylan, but her desperation to know the truth was too great.
“I got a call to pick up money from you. The man on the phone told me where to get it and the place to drop it off. I—”
“Where was the drop-off site?” Agent Colbert said.
The man paused before answering. “A trash can outside Moody Gardens.”
Agent Colbert pushed paper and pen toward the man. “That tourist site is expansive. We need a map like you gave us previously for the rattler pit.”
The man wrote with his cuffed hands and slid the paper back to the agent.
Silvia couldn’t see what was written, but she wasn’t finished with her questions. “What’s your name?”
“Henry.”
“What were you paid for picking up the money?”
“Another day to live.”
Any other questions escaped her, so a police officer escorted the man out of the room. “Agent Riesel, thank you,” she said. “You’ve closed a door for me. Since that man doesn’t know Dylan, I’m sure you’ve concluded he’s a victim and not guilty of any wrongdoing.” There, she’d successfully repeated her rehearsed words.
Agent Riesel’s eyes were gentle, kind. “Ms. Ortega, we must talk to your son. Henry Kantore’s statement doesn’t exonerate Dylan. Truthfully, it adds more weight to his involvement, tying Dylan to other members of the group responsible for these crimes. And we still have an eyewitness who is sure he saw Dylan the morning of Judge Mendez’s death.”
“You will find out my son is a good man.” How many times had she spoken a form of those words? Dylan was innocent of the horrible crimes, and somehow she’d prove it.
58
AFTER SILVIA LEFT THE JAIL, Leah knew it was time to chat with Chief of Police Zachary Everson about his volatile temper.
“I want the full story of his relationships with Marcia Trevelle, Greer, and the judge,” Leah said.
“You feel up to it?”
“If you don’t let up on the hovering, I might have to show you how well I can shoot.” She was only half-teasing. Seriously, Jon needed to drop the overprotective syndrome. Her hand ached, but she wasn’t about to tell him that or let it keep her out of the game. “If you’re busy looking out for me, we’re lining ourselves up for a mistake.”
“You’re right,” Jon said.
“Can I record that?”
He smiled. “I suggest we balance the questioning instead of one of us leading out.”
They needed to be viewed as a team seeking the truth, not the FBI ganging up on Everson.
Within minutes, the three sat in Everson’s office drinking cold bottles of water. They’d gotten past the rattlesnake bite story. Leah didn’t believe in waiting out the inevitable but facing it. Everson seemed squeaky clean. Looked and acted the part of a man dedicated to saving and protecting lives.
“What’s going on?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
Jon led out. “Chief—”
“Zachary. This case puts us on a first-name basis. Despite our differences.”
“We need to confirm a few things,” Jon said. “Are you telling us everything?”
The cords in his neck knotted. “If I had a lead on the Venenos, there’d be a few less of them.” His jaw tightened. “I think I know where this is going. It’s why you replaced GPD officers with agents for Rachel.” His gaze drilled into Jon. “Who questioned my integrity?”
“Doesn’t matter, Zachary.”
He reached for a nearly empty bottle of water. “So what do you want, then?”
“We believe there’s documentation of the investigation the three were conducting.”
“I figured so. I’ve searched through Marcia’s things but haven’t found anything in the way of a notebook, computer file, flash drive, or slips of paper with information pertaining to their investigation.”
Leah wrestled with the inconsistencies from those they’d interviewed since Tuesday. “Our teams who swept the judge’s home and office also haven’t turned up anything.”
Zachary shook his head. “The judge wouldn’t have endangered her or the kids. I had tremendous respect for the man. His family meant more to him than his commitment to justice.”
“What if I told you Dylan Ortega is Rachel’s biological son?”
Zachary released his arms and blew out a breath. “Didn’t see that coming.”
“The judge was aware and was willing to welcome Dylan into the family.” Leah let her words sink in. “It’s highly unlikely he would have extended an invitation like that if he suspected his wife’s son was in a gang or involved with the drug theft.”
“Do you think any of your GPD officers had anything to do with this?” Jon said.
Everson snorted. “They know if there’s even a hint of stepping over the line, they’re outta here. Look, we must figure this out before there’s another murder.”
Leah exchanged a long look with Jon. Should they trust Everson with more details of the investigation? His personality might rub some people the wrong way, but she still believed he was grieving the loss of his fiancée and his officer. It hadn’t been an easy week for the man.
Jon nodded and turned back to the police chief. “Those three believed the in-game was prescription drugs. There are at least three connection points to drugs stolen from Molston Pharmaceuticals.”
Zachary ducked his head. “Landon Shaw got caught trying to hawk stolen drugs from that company. Ian Greer arrested a man in possession of prescription pills from there too. What’s the third connection?”
Leah sighed. “Dylan Ortega.”
59
AT THE RATE THEY WERE GOING, Leah believed she and Jon might as well establish residency in Galveston. Sitting in Zachary Everson’s office, they tossed around all the possibilities connected to the investigation into the stolen pr
escription drugs.
Jon’s phone rang, and he glanced at the number. “It’s Richard James.”
Leah’s gaze flew to his. “Maybe he has word about Elena.” She wanted the young woman to be safe and innocent from the chaos.
Jon answered the call. “Hello, Richard.” He listened for a moment. “Wonderful news. Glad Elena is okay. Leah and I will be there in about twenty minutes.” He slipped the phone into his pocket. “Elena showed up at home around 11 a.m. She says the Venenos nabbed her Wednesday evening. She’s with her parents being treated at a medical clinic. She wants to talk to Leah.” He stood. “They’ll be home by the time we get there.”
Zachary snatched his phone. “I’ll send officers to the clinic and another squad car to the home. GPD will take care of 24-7 protection.” He rose to his feet and held out his hand. “We are on the same side.”
Jon shook his hand. “Appreciate it. I’m taking Elena’s safety as a sign we’re about to end this gang’s terror streak.”
Leah’s thoughts spun. Was Dylan working with Elena’s kidnappers? Had the girl seen or heard from him? “I want to know how she got away.”
Jon headed for the door with her on his heels. “We’re about to find out.”
“Keep me posted,” Zachary said.
At the Jameses’ home, Jon parked at the curb. Zachary had worked fast because a GPD officer was already guarding the front door. After Leah and Jon displayed IDs, the officer gestured them inside.
Richard James met them in the foyer. His flushed face and red eyes spoke fathoms of his rattled emotions. “Thanks for coming. We arrived home about ten minutes ago. Elena is in the shower. Her mother is close by.” He ran his fingers through light-colored hair. “My daughter is dehydrated, exhausted, dizzy. We’ve gotten a smoothie down her, but it will take time for her to recover.”
